The Long Game
by kat2012
Summary: Dark days lead to an unexpected alliance... mentor fiction
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

_This story is AU after OotP although some details from canon will find their way in. No characters belong to me...I'm only borrowing them!_

"Letters every three days!"

Uncle Vernon was clearly furious.

"If it wasn't enough that we've taken you in, fed you, raised you and this is what we get! Threats and letters and freaks ganging up on us in public places!" He sounded as if the fact that the exchange had taken place out in the open made it all the more insulting.

"It wasn't my idea," Harry said tonelessly. He knew it didn't matter what he said and if he'd known in advance that the exchange was going to happen at all, he could have warned its instigators not to waste their time. Suddenly he felt tired, achingly tired. He just wanted to be left alone.

"I won't have it, do you hear me? I won't have these...people coming around here and causing trouble! You just tell them..."

Harry tuned him out and turned his attention to his trunk. The sooner he could get upstairs, unpack and resign himself to another summer in this house...

"Are you listening, boy?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"Well, what? I told you it was nothing to do with me."

"You expect me to believe that you haven't been complaining and lying and creating a fuss over..."

"I don't care what you believe. Can I go to my room?"

But Vernon clearly wasn't prepared to let it go. He stepped forward, still in spite of a recent growth spurt, managing to tower over Harry and giving him an old, childish urge to duck and run.

"You'll write those letters, boy. You'll give them no reason to come here, do you hear me? And if you think you can lord it over us with that sodding godfather of yours."

"Sirius is dead."

Harry had no idea he was going to say the words before he said them. He hadn't particularly intended to tell the Dursleys about him but in his mind, over and over, was a savage little urge to say the words, to keep saying them until they made some kind of sense. His voice sounded strangely flat to his own ears.

"Dead?" Petunia glanced over her shoulder at the front door, as if to check for errant, eavesdropping neighbours.

"Yeah. Can I go now?"

"Without him, you've nowhere to go, have you, boy? It's obvious that school of yours won't keep you in the summer. If we decide that you have to leave here..." Vernon left the sentence hanging but Harry suddenly realised that this wasn't just another empty rant. Something must have shown in his expression because his uncle's eyes were fixed on him now, seizing him up.

"You'll write those letters," he said quietly, "you'll tell those freaks you're happy and go about your work here without an ounce of trouble. Do you hear me? Otherwise, that's it, plain and simple, you're out. If that's what you want, then, fine."

There was a time that those words would have carried possibilities. It was true enough that every summer in this house, he dreamed of something...something obviously not life-threatening...but _something_, all the same, that would deem it impossible to return here. Suddenly, he felt cold. Leaving the Dursleys would make him vulnerable, which in turn would make anyone he cared about yet more vulnerable. After all, he truly understood now the danger that his friends were in, the fact that anyone he loved could at any time be targeted. The vision about Sirius had been a lie and look where that had led. Would the next one be?

"Ok, fine," he said quietly, "I'll do it. I'll keep them away."

Vernon nodded and bent down to Harry's trunk.

"We'll have this locked away for a start. You can keep the bird in your room for your letters but any nonsense..."

Harry turned around to look at his aunt. She stared back at him.

"We can't have your lot here," was all she said but he caught the inner meaning. She was in complete agreement. At least he'd had the sense to keep his wand in his pocket.

He wandered upstairs, trying not to think about the long weeks that lay ahead. Dudley was sitting in his own room and it occurred to Harry that it was strange that his cousin hadn't come down to witness the scene downstairs. Such things were normally his greatest form of entertainment.

"Hello Harry, did you have a good term?" His tone was one that, with a slight stretch, could be described as politely interested.

Harry froze. If he could even think of the disaster of the last few months as anything resembling something so normal sounding as a _school term_ with any amount of coherent thought, the sight of his cousin's expectant face overtook any other chance of a sensible response.

"Thanks, you?" he murmured finally. The other boy nodded, smiled and lumbered downstairs to the television.

"That was weird," Harry muttered out loud as he walked into his room. The late afternoon sun cast a thin shaft across the floorboards and somewhere outside the window, there were the usual summer sounds of lawnmowers and car engines. This time last year he had had the odd sense, when entering this room, how strange that it looked the very same as always, when his own world was so completely torn asunder.

This time though, he wasn't expecting anything. On the train journey home, it had even occurred to him that the Dursleys' house was the one place he knew with no associations of Sirius and therefore, might make the thoughts in his head easier to quell. That would not be the case. He knew it at once.

In sudden desperation, he left the room and returned downstairs.

Petunia was standing in the kitchen, emptying shopping bags.

"How did your godfather die?" she asked, startling him, as she always did, when she asked anything even vaguely relating to his world.

"Like my parents," he answered shortly, going for the simplest explanation he could.

She dropped her gaze from his.

"Peel the vegetables and get them on," was all she said.

...

That night, the first in weeks, he slept deeply.

_In a half circle around him, his servants gazed at him with adoration in their ignorant eyes. Harry found himself strangely impatient in their midst. Weaklings, most of them. Happy to join the hunt when he made the prey weak and pliable but where had they been in the most desperate instances of his existence, when his soul had floated aimlessly, without anchor? But no, he wouldn't think of that. It would not reoccur._

_Bellatrix, at his side, her face radiant._

"_You have news for us, Bellatrix?" he breathed._

"_Yes, my lord, most promising news." She stood and faced him, blocking the others from his view._

"_The mission I set you?"_

"_I believe it will be successful."_

_That was all she said and he felt her excitement as he brushed his mind against her own. He would not ask her to elaborate. The concerns she had shared with him about Severus were...unsettling. Gesturing to her to take her seat once again, he turned his gaze to the man he had believed to be his most faithful. Severus' expression was no less rapt than his counterparts, his mind open and alert. Severus had never let him down, never faltered in his duties and yet..._

_...Harry had to resist the urge to draw his wand and kill the man then and there. _

"_Crucio!"_

_As the man writhed on the ground in front of him, he turned from the triumphant glance Bellatrix shot him. It wouldn't do to let her know that she had been the one to alert him. Already the fact that he had ordered her not to share the details of her mission had led her to believe herself elevated to a position above every other Death Eater present. Let it pass, for now. _

_If her mission was indeed successful, Severus would have no choice but to act on his true loyalties. And if the suspicions turned out to be true, his punishment would be nothing less than an impressive warning to the rest of them._

_It could be Severus' final duty. The thought amused him._

_He pointed his wand again, thinking of the information Severus had passed to him over the last year...and the information that now it seemed, he had not..._

"_Crucio!"_

Harry sat bolt upright in bed, his fingers pressed tight against his forehead.

He felt sick. Even though he had been, in a sense, the one casting the curse, it was also as if he had felt the pain of it. His whole body seemed to be pounding and he had a vague sense of wanting to run, as if running could dispel the darkness and grime that seemed to seep into his mind from the dream.

Not dream, he corrected himself, _vision_.

He had never learned to clear his mind before sleep and it seemed that he would never learn to shield his mind adequately to keep him from receiving them.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember the particulars of the scene he had witnessed. He could feel Voldemort's pleasure at Bellatrix's conviction about the success of the mission but nothing of what it might entail. And Snape...somehow the mission would expose Snape...

He hated Snape.

But no one deserved the glimpses of intent he had just seen inside Voldemort's mind.

Harry pulled over one of the pieces of notepaper Vernon had left by his bedside, chewed his pen thoughtfully and started to write.

_Dear Remus,_

_I hope that everything is ok. I am fine. Nothing to report. The summer is going well so far._

He could think of absolutely nothing to elaborate on but he figured that it should suffice. He wasn't particularly known for his letter writing skills.

_Could you please tell Professor Snape that he was right to be __suspicious__ of my extra potions assignment. I'm sorry about that but thought I'd better let him know. He should be __very careful__ with it as I think the ingredients got mixed up and could be dangerous. _

He re-read the note. As subtle warnings went, it probably wouldn't make an ounce of sense to anyone, including Professor Snape but the fact of the non-existent extra potions assignment might just make him think.

He left the letter by his bed and lay back down but there was no more chance of sleep that night.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Harry sighed and started to pack away the gardening tools. A week had passed, and he'd heard nothing in response to his letter. There were no more visions, at least not that he was aware of. Most mornings he woke with aches and pains, as if he'd been exercising vigorously all night long. He wrote his letters every three days, trying to veil his desperate desires for news and updates in the form of cheerful queries; "how are you?", "any news?", and "hope you are all well."

If he thought that last summer had been hard with the feeling of being cut off, this one was ten times worse. Knowing that Voldemort no longer had to remain hidden and covert, anything could be happening. Sometimes he wondered if he wasn't imagining the gloom that seemed to be settling over life in Privet Drive. There was a heavy mist which, at first most noticeable in the mornings, now seemed to permeate everything, all day long.

Or maybe it was just him. With no one to talk to, and nothing he particularly wanted to say, Harry spent his days doing chores and lying on his bed, waiting for something, anything, that might provide him with news of his friends. If any of the Order were outside, there was no evidence of it.

He glanced around, wondering if there was a point in trying to contact any possible Order members keeping watch. He had spent the entire afternoon weeding and cutting the grass and at Aunt Petunia's instruction, painting the fence. There had not been a single sign of any other presence apart from his own. It was a hot day and the mist seemed to make the atmosphere heavier and harder to work in. Giving up on the idea, he dragged himself into the house and poured a glass of water, almost spilling it when his uncle's voice boomed behind him.

"You'll ask before you take anything in this house!"

"It's only water," Harry said, biting back the comment he wanted to make about nothing much being given to him, even when he did ask.

"Up to your room!" The man actually grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, marched him to his room and locked the door. Being locked in was usual enough, Harry supposed, and certainly food in the Dursley household wasn't exactly in ample supply at the best of times, but this sort of scenario usually took place when he'd done something they deemed to be out of the ordinary.

He flopped down on the bed and watched the mist outside. Without a breeze, it was almost tangible, wisps floating here and there...as if they could suddenly take shape...

...

_Dear Remus,_

_Everything is fine here and I'm having a good summer. I would really like to hear how you are though. I've been here for more than a week now and haven't heard anything. Have you seen anyone since the summer began? I miss you all._

_Please write,_

_Harry._

"You're not enticing anyone here, do you hear me?"

"I'm not, Uncle Vernon, I just want to know how they all are!"

"Leave out that line, boy, if you know what's good for you."

"He can't, Dad."

Dudley grabbed the letter out of his father's hand before he could tear it up.

"If he takes that part out, there'll only be one line in the letter. They'll get suspicious and come looking for him."

Harry stared, open mouthed, as Dudley shrugged and handed the letter back to Harry.

In his son's presence, Vernon seemed to make an effort to calm down. He took a deep breath and muttered something.

"Pardon?" Harry asked politely.

"I said fine! Send it!"

Vernon said not another word as he gathered up his briefcase and left the house.

"Thanks Dudley," Harry said, turning to his cousin, "uh...not that I'm not glad but...what's with all this being nice to me?"

Dudley turned bright red.

"I owed you one," he muttered, "for, you know, those dark things last year."

"Thought you blamed me for them."

"I don't...didn't. Well..." Dudley stared at him, his mouth working before the words came out, as if he couldn't quite form them.

"I'm sorry I laughed at you about your nightmares, Harry. I know...well, it's not something to laugh about."

"You have them?"

Dudley nodded, looking downwards.

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

"You weren't scared of those creatures. You fought them."

"I wasn't _not_ scared, Dudley. But I'd seen them before."

"Still..." Dudley took a breath. "It made me think that...if you faced them like that, well, whatever you _do_ have nightmares about...well, it...it must be really frightening."

For a moment, their eyes met. But before Harry had a chance to respond, Dudley gave him a slight nod and disappeared out the front door.

That evening, Uncle Vernon was strangely distracted when he arrived home. Dudley had been out all day and Harry finally finished his chores and started on dinner, bracing himself for the inevitable banishment to his room before the meal began. But it never happened. His uncle sat down with a heavy sigh, barely regarding any of them. After shooting him a few puzzled glances, Petunia served dinner and Harry tentatively joined them, eating as fast as he could in case his presence was suddenly noticed and objected to.

"Good day, dear?" Petunia ventured eventually.

Vernon nodded, never taking his eyes off his plate.

When they had finished, Harry took the plates to the sink and started to wash up. He was well into the task by the next time Vernon spoke.

"Potter."

Feeling his breath catch, Harry turned around slowly.

On the sitting room window sill, a brown owl sat, watching them calmly, a letter in its back.

"What have I told you about those bloody birds?"

"It's the only way..." Harry stopped himself. "I'll get rid of it." He hastened towards the window sill but his uncle beat him to it, snatched the letter and waved his hand angrily.

"Please Uncle Vernon..."

Vernon ripped the letter open, scanned it and handed it to Harry.

_Dear Harry,_

_It's good to hear from you and I'm glad that you are ok. Please know that we will arrange to see you as soon as possible. Everything is fine but there is a lot going on. I will write again properly._

_Remus_

_PS I passed on your message about the potions assignment to Severus as you requested. He says to remind you that he has been an expert in such matters since before you were born and he (strongly) suggests that you put the matter out of your head and get on with your other assignments. Still, in his own way, he obviously wants you not to worry, I suppose!_

Harry frowned. It was hard to know how Snape might have interpreted what Harry had told him but either way, he had no intention of taking it, or Harry, seriously. No surprise there then.

"You're not doing any _assignments_ in this house!"

"How can I?" Harry pointed out, trying to keep his voice calm, "you've locked all my school things away."

"I know what you're like, boy." Vernon's face was getting redder by the second.

"He's referring to an essay before the term finished, that's all."

"I'm telling you now, boy. If I find out that you're lying to me..." Vernon was in his space now and suddenly his hands were clamped on Harry's shoulders, shaking him firmly with every word.

"I know what you're like! You're not to be trusted! Half blooded little liar, that's all you are!"

The words shocked Harry into twisting himself firmly out of his uncle's reach. Half blood...where did his uncle learn that phrase? Petunia had risen to her feet and staring wide-eyed from one to the other.

"Vernon..."

But just as suddenly as it had begun, Vernon's anger seemed to dissipate.

"Go on. Go to your room," he said flatly.

"Gladly."

Harry spun around and ran upstairs. In the last glow of sun, the mist made the sky outside look a lot darker than it should. He threw himself down on the bed, trying to think clearly. He had known since last year that his aunt knew more about the wizarding world than she let on to but Vernon?

Everything felt wrong, he decided, staring out at the gathering gloom in the evening sky. He really hoped that whatever plans were being made for him would be made soon.

_It was Christmas time in Grimmauld Place and the first person Harry saw when arrived through the front door was Sirius, his face younger-looking than Harry remembered him, his eyes alive with pleasure._

"_Harry! It's wonderful to see you!" He threw his arms around Harry and drew him close, only pulling back when he realised that Harry was crying._

"_What's wrong?"_

"_You're back. I'm just...so glad to see you. You're not dead."_

_But even as he said the words, Harry knew things weren't right. The room seemed was gathering darkness by the second. He stared at the mantelpiece._

"_There's no Christmas cards. No one's sent us a present." Everything in the room was blank and suddenly even the feel of Sirius' arms was fading, losing substance._

"_Sirius, come back! Please, come back!"_

He opened his eyes, focusing at once on the orange glow of the street light outside his window. Had he shouted in his sleep? He waited, but there was no sound from the rest of the household.

Trying to shut the dream out of his mind, Harry closed his eyes again but it was a long time before sleep reclaimed him.

"_Kill the spare!"_

_Voldemort, impossibly alive and grotesque in Wormtail's arms._

"_Cedric!"_

_But it wasn't Cedric the wand was aimed at. Snape, his face pale and frozen, his body battered..._

"_Potter!"_

"_I'm sorry, sir, I tried to warn you!"_

"Potter!"

Harry sat up and jumped sharply backwards when he saw his uncle staring grimly down at him. He definitely must have shouted...

But Vernon turned away as soon as he saw that he was awake.

"Get dressed. You're coming on an errand with me."

"What?"

"I need you to help with a few odd jobs...at work. Come on, we're leaving in fifteen minutes."

"Uncle Vernon..." Harry got out of bed and hurried after his uncle. "I'm not supposed to go anywhere. You know that. It's for your protection as much as mine."

"You'll come with me when I tell you, boy, and stop talking nonsense."

Harry got dressed quickly and ran downstairs. His aunt was in the kitchen, making coffee.

"Aunt Petunia. I'm sorry but...Uncle Vernon wants me to come with him to work and help with something. I can't leave the house, you know that."

She looked sharply at him.

"No one told us you can't leave the house." But her voice was uncertain. She stood up as Vernon came in to the kitchen, his coat on.

"Vernon, the boy can't be trusted around your colleagues. Leave him here."

"He'll do what he's told," Vernon growled, "outside, Potter, get in the car."

Harry stared at them.

"Now!"

"Vernon..."

"GET IN THE CAR!"

Harry turned around and walked out the front door. Something was badly wrong. Vernon had never, ever taken Harry anywhere of his own accord. Was he planning something...to have him beaten up or something? That was more Dudley's style. Should he run? He looked up and down the deserted street. If he ran, maybe the Knight bus would find him. But if Death Eaters got to him first...how many people would die this time trying to defend him?

He felt for his wand. The consequences of yet another charge of underage magic would be severe but it could be his best option.

"If anyone's there..." He spoke in a fierce whisper, then stopped. Talking to himself felt stupid but maybe, just maybe, there was someone around to hear.

"My uncle wants me to get in the car and go to his workplace. It's never happened before. I don't know what to do..." He broke off again and looked around as if help might have suddenly materialised in the last few seconds. Nothing.

"Please. I think I'll have to run and I don't know if it's the best thing to do."

Vernon marched out of the house, slamming the door behind him. Harry tensed, preparing himself for flight. He suddenly felt cold. It was as if that slam of the door had disturbed something. The air felt different. A chill seemed to creep over him.

"Potter! Get in before I...what the hell?"

Harry watched as Vernon suddenly walked all around the car, his face getting redder by the second.

The four tyres were flat.

Trying to hide a smile, Harry relaxed his grip on his wand.

"Never mind," Vernon straightened up, his eyes fixed on Harry. "We'll walk."

"I'm not going with you," Harry said, backing away, "you know I'm not and you know you can't make me."

A voice spoke from behind him.

"Maybe he can't, Potter, but you can be sure that I can."

Hoping against hope that his mind was playing tricks on him, he turned around slowly.

Bellatrix Lestrange was standing by the garden gate.


End file.
